


Steam

by CopperBeech



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drabble, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Just a brief moment on New Year's Morning after the Apocaloss. Adheres to my vow of sweet-and-loving only for the holiday season in the Year Of Covid.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 91





	Steam

For a sharply cold day – a day of flurries mixed with sun, festooning London with transparent garlands and lace shawls and carpets of white – it seemed to involve a remarkable amount of steam. Steam from their breath, as they’d tumbled out of the shop door to leave the prints of sensible brogues and fashionable boots on the pavements of Soho; steam from the cocoa and coffee they’d gotten at the angel’s favourite cafe, wafting up from the perforations in the lidded cups like smoke signals.

The angel was scattering little blessings in his wake the way they’d scattered bread to the fowl in St. James’ Park for centuries. Some of them, like the bread, seemed to be directed at no one in particular, just there in the ether for the next passerby to encounter.

Crowley tried to pretend he didn’t enjoy seeing Aziraphale so happy. Bad for his image. He was, of course, failing miserably.

“What?” said the angel finally.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve got that _look.”_

“Dangerous look?” said Crowley hopefully

“About-to-kiss-me-look. Any special reason?”

“Do I need one?”

“I suppose not. It _is_ Soho.”

The tip of the angel’s nose and the tops of his ears were pink with the cold. They’d spent all those centuries pretending they weren’t even looking at each other, speaking to one another, making excuses so that no one in Hell or Heaven would know how often they met, broke bread, shared a bottle. Now they were crossing Golden Square and their footprints formed a long braid in the dusting of fresh snow on the pavement, a thread of text in a pictographic language that said _Crowley Loves Aziraphale, Aziraphale Loves Crowley._

Possibly even _: Aziraphale is hopelessly cute when his nose is so pink, Aziraphale tastes of cocoa._

“I can’t see a blessed thing,” murmured Crowley as steam coated the surface of his dark glasses.

“No more can I, dear,” said Aziraphale, whose round spectacles were equally opaque, and returned to creating more steam.

“Not fair when everyone else can,” complained Crowley, regrouping.

“And we needn’t worry that they can,” said Aziraphale a few moments later, rather smugly.

“Oi! Get a room!” came a Dopplering shout from a passerby on a bicycle. Invisible, of course.

“N’ happy new year to you, mate!” Crowley called back.

“My dear, you seem positively un-demonic today. Any special reason?”

“New Year’s, s’pose?”

“It never affected you this way before.”

“Never got to kiss you on New Year’s Day in front of Her and everybody before, either. That’s new.”

And it would never stop being that way. From now on, the years would always be new. Blessedly, wonderfully, everlastingly new.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year and many more, my cherished friends and readers. Bring your cocoa over to @CopperPlateBeech on Tumblr and say hello.


End file.
